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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24176683">Visions of Morrison</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semi_Weird_Shipper/pseuds/Semi_Weird_Shipper'>Semi_Weird_Shipper</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Weirdo's Slasher/Bad Guy Stories [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dead by Daylight (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drinking, Eventual Romance, F/M, Frank has a cat, Friendship/Love, Healing, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, Mild Gore, Minor Violence, Past Abuse, Romantic Fluff, Suspense</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:48:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,179</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24176683</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semi_Weird_Shipper/pseuds/Semi_Weird_Shipper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU I made up myself. Totally not cannon, but how I would see Frank if he weren't, you know, just in the game. </p><p>Summary: Frank Morrison is a mercenary who works for the boss MacMillan, and he's made outstanding progress so far. But what happens when his next target is delivered nearly half dead to his door step? And what if this particular target happens to be you?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>F.J.S.J. | The Legion/Reader, Frank Morrison/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Weirdo's Slasher/Bad Guy Stories [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744741</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>108</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I gotta admit, I'm a little disappointed that there isn't more <em>consensual</em> content with the Legion. It's just like the Doctor, I see them as capable men who can do positive things while still being themselves no matter how mad they appear. I'm happy for the stories that are out there that expand their good side, however breif. I'm hoping to open some minds up with this story, show fans that maybe Frank Morrison doesn't always have to be a jerky perv?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Frank wasn't the type of mercenary to leave a job half finished or even three quarters of the way done. He actually preferred the thrill of the hunt and all its compacted deals of unexpected surprises and problems he loved finding kinky answers to. It was just in the job description. Hunt, play, chase and kill. Couldn't be more simple. However, he was starting to rethink things over as he stared down at the pathetic, sad, more than half beaten bag of flesh that was you.</p><p>You were splayed in cheap, thin clothing that was torn and covered in dark brown stains that implicated long since wet blood. Weak, old bandages hung helplessly around your waist, abdomen and even your chest. Frank clenched his teeth in mild disgust and painful recognition. That couldn't have felt nice. Your face was pale and adorned with dark, dreaded circles that hung beneath your swollen, tear induced eyes. Flimsy duck tape bedazzled your legs, mouth and wrists.</p><p>Now back to the beginning; Frank was a man who loved every second of his job, from the start of the hunt to the disposal of the work. He didn't like it when his job was easy or too undergone. He cherished every moment. And not only were you delivered right, straight to his door, but you were pretty much already half dead.</p><p>Frank sneered in repulsion and frustration. You were stinking up the fine carpet of his newly detailed apartment, and now he was going to have to slam together a new plan that involved quietly murdering you with the least amount of blood as possible, sneaking your slump, nasty body out of the suspicious apartment radius and dig a ditch to bury you in. Eww... <em>Work</em>. He sighed, not completely in a forward state of mind.</p><p>This past week had been a bit much. Frank was high strung and worn out, his bones aching for a mere tender massage, probably from some hot babe- and maybe if he were persuasive enough, he could add in that quality night time deal- and relax in the simplicity of his quiet home. He was getting outstandingly efficient in the field, and the boss MacMillan strongly admired that about him. Thus wanting to please the big guy more, Frank had been expanding his plate capacity by nearly five folds.</p><p>A lot had happened in the past two weeks. Lots of running, stabbing and lifting. His arms and legs were tired and his hands sore. He needed a drink, sleep, and a good freakin clang to help settle his distressing hormones. Sure, killing people had its own special high, but that only lasted through the night and things went back to being imperfect again. He really didn't need to deal with an absurdity like you.</p><p>Hesitantly, like he thought you might bite, Frank lifted out his leg and nudged your seemingly tied, limp arm with the tip of his foot. Your body jostled lightly and your eyes blinked open. Frank took in the color of them as he retreated his foot back, anticipating your reaction. He had gotten deliveries before, maybe not half dead ones, but... you know. He had expectations.</p><p>You were barely half awake, eyes blinking to adjust to the dim lighting of the room. It was different. The white, crisp walls in which stood covered in posters, nail holes and old leak stains came to you first, and you tilt your migraine throbbing head to the side. The carpet was dark brown and fuzzy. Fresh too, like it had just been put down. You tilt your head up a little, catching a dark, navy blue figment out of the corner of your eye. You turn your heavy, drumming head in its direction and think to yourself that maybe it wasn't a figment after all.</p><p>There, right in front of you stood a semi-tall man clad in a light grey leather jacket decorated in metal spines, water wave patterned jeans, checkerboard themed converse and a thin, plate like mask covering his face.</p><p>Frank watched as you ended your gaze party and rested your eyes upon him. He smirked behind his mask and twirled his knife around like an expert, trying to endorse you with intimidation. However, all you did was blink, your eyes almost too concentrated as you repeat the small motion two more times before slowly, slowly lowering your head back to the ground.</p><p>What?</p><p>Frank's smile faded into a grimace of confusion. Where were the screams, whimpers, demands and cries? Even a little backlash would be enough to suffice his intuition. Where was the fun in... <em>whatever</em> you were doing?</p><p>Pretending to be unamused, Frank huffed and turned, making a small circle around you. "Must've pissed someone off pretty bad, huh?" He asked rhetorically, his eyes fanning over your blood stained clothing and thin bandages, "Especially for them to wanna send ya to me."</p><p>He bent down into a crouch, knife limp in his hand as he nodded at your beaten formation. You blink, slowly, gently, your eyes exhausted and heavy from all the stress and lack of sleep this past week had brought you. Pain radiated from every nook and cranny of your small, fragile body. The hunger in which kept you going for weeks now just felt like a churning ball of toxic acids in your stomach, and your tongue was a burial ground of sandpaper. Thundering agony pulsed in your side, chest and head, constantly reminding you of what you had done and what you had been through. The most you could do was sigh and gaze blankly at the ceiling, reveling silently in the hope that it was all about to be over, finished. Done.</p><p>Out of the corner of your darkened eyes you see that the man who you were sent to be executed by was kneeling beside you, staring. You absently wonder why but remembered that you were a big, huge mess and, to your sad misfortune, bet he was probably really curious. His statement blew through your mind for a moment as your head voiced what could answer his implied question. But it wouldn't matter, you thought. Not only could you not speak because of the stupid, itchy tape on your mouth, but you were about to be killed. Nothing about you would matter ever again soon. </p><p>Frank tilted his head as he watched your slowly blinking eyes and how they opened and closed in a way that seemed like exhaustion. And he couldn't blame you considering your stance, but even the most exhausted targets had their own special way of reacting in terror. Take it from Freddy; that freak dealt with them all the time. Yet you... you were weird. Just... weird.</p><p>Out of frustration and overgrown curiosity, Frank reached out his hand rather quickly, eliciting no flinch, no whine, not even a jostle of fear from your limp form, and grabbed a corner of the tape. He ripped it off fast and demandingly, smugly wondering how you'd react to that.</p><p>You didn't.</p><p>The only thing you managed was a light cringe and a closing of your eyes, the burning sting left from the tape ached across your mouth. You heard the man utter a small huff of sorts as he aggressively crumbled up the tape and flung it off to the side. You opened your eyes, focusing on the aches and pains in your dehydrated body, waiting patiently for it all to end soon.</p><p>Frank was starting to get irritated at your lack of satisfying reactions. So he settled for a little shrug and a twirl of his knife. "So..." He said casually, as if he could care less, "What'd you do?"</p><p>You didn't really expect him to wanna ask questions, seeing as how most MacMillan mercenaries preferred to hurry and get the job done quickly, but you also didn't really feel like answering. He was supposed to kill you, not engage in conversation. You flit your eyes over to him, gazing at the small holes in his mask, lips parting in pre-word gesture. "Enough," Was all you said.</p><p>And Frank didn't like it. Not one bit. Emotions that he did not favor flooded his body. Feelings of confusion, shock and almost sorrow. Your voice matched the tune of your weak, beaten body, and acceptance of death more than decorated the small impressions you made. You almost seemed too accepting about it, too... too smug. For a few tense moments, Frank didn't know what to say. His brain was in a blender and the blades were your variety of incomprehensible questions you made him ask and wonder about.</p><p>He rubbed the bottom of his chin beneath his mask, thinking to himself. He had gotten a few people who were <em>willing</em> to die- usually in an act of bravery or skillful fearlessness. They weren't much fun. And neither were you yet the way you were acting was so strange, so submissive and uncaring. Like... like you <em>wanted</em> to die.</p><p>The realization had Frank shuffling a bit as he tried feigning any type of confidence in this angsty situation. "Well," He said disappointedly, "Be in for more than what you got, sweetie. 'Cause staying with me won't be a tasty treat."</p><p>You moved your head unexpectedly, eyes rolling upward like you were aggravated. "Really?" You breath out in what might have been aggression, "You're a mercenary, aren't you?"</p><p>"Only the best," Frank smirked although what he felt inside was completely one-eighty compared to his outward appearance.</p><p>"Then stop being such a baby," You voice with a catch in your throat, staring straight into what you assumed was the man's eyes, "Get it over with."</p><p>Oh... <em>Ohhhh</em>. "Gotta mouth now, don't ya?" He nearly growled, heart beating in faint anger as he glared behind his mask.</p><p>"Real mercenaries get the job done right," You breathe achingly, mockery and judgement blistering the tones of what would be your usually soft voice, "So either you're a coward or an idiot."</p><p>Frank had to retaliate, but was finding himself holding back with a heavy breath through his mouth. He settled down the severe desperation in his chest and cleared his mind, remembering the task at hand. You might have a mouth and some unfun reactions, but he was still worn out and in need of a sanctioned plan.</p><p>"Hate to break it to you strong, sweetie, but this mercenary ain't no coward," Frank shook his head slowly, "If I'm gonna get the job done right then I need'a keep you alive another day."</p><p>"Ridiculous," You sputter, eyes wide with hidden panic, "Just kill me now."</p><p>"Nope," Frank popped his lips together and stood up, "Sorry sweetie. Hope the floors not too cold for ya."</p><p>"You better hope I don't piss on it, you idiot," You sputter forcefully, breath ragged.</p><p>Frank turned to gaze in your direction, lifting his knife up threateningly. "Do that and I'll make sure that little pussy of yours never pisses again," He warned.</p><p>You laughed sarcastically.</p><p>Frank squinted his eyes. You were odd. You were odd and it was driving him insane to know why. Really, all he wanted was to down something strong, lie down, jack-off, go to sleep and worry about you tomorrow. Because tomorrow was tomorrow and not as important as right now, and right now he had to make a choice. A; kill you here and now and clean up the mess later. Or B; kill you later and clean up no mess at all.</p><p>Option B was seeming pretty self probable.... Frank forced himself to turn around, knowing that if he stayed he'd either get too curious or too angry by your strangeness, and headed towards his hallway. "Don't do anything stupid, got it, sweetness?" He hollered back in his no-joke voice.</p><p>As somewhat expected, you laughed again. Frank sighed at that, wondering why everything about you was so off, so weird and different. You should be terrified and yet his threats and warnings only sat as a laughable failure to you. Your attitude wasn't something he'd consider brave but rather... threatening in a way, almost like you were daring him to make a move in your own twisted way. Well, if there was one thing he was good at it was not falling for tricks. And you were very, very tricky.</p><p>Once he got to his bedroom, Frank closed his door with a faint slam and immediately headed over to his comfortable bed, relishing in the fine, soft sheets and relaxation the moment of prosperity brought. He didn't bother to lock his door knowing that you were basically nearly hog tied and unable to break free. Sure you could worm around, but in the end you were still wounded and still bound. You couldn't make a move even if you tried.</p><p> </p><p>When Frank woke up, it was to an ongoing, very loud, very obnoxious noise. Something firm and repetitive nudged his face, the form soft and tickling his nostrils. He groaned, sniffing and waving the nuisance away. It wouldn't move. Instead, all Frank got was another head nudge and a rather large flock of demanding 'meow's to follow.</p><p>"Ugh... Really, Stark?" Frank grumbled, glaring in annoyance at the fluffy orange and white cat kneading against the sheets over his abdomen. It was purring, it's tender claws pressing against his forearms in greeting. Frank sighed and rolled his tense eyes, looking back at the clock on the nightstand. One in the afternoon.</p><p>Great...</p><p>Frank plopped back and twisted around in an awkward stretch, thinking about why he had to do anything at all as a person, especially work. Work as in he needed to feed his precious roommate Stark and get a certain unwanted guest rid of. Oh lovely, he had almost forgotten about you. He sighed once more, rubbing his face in exhaustion and distress. He really, really didn't feel like putting up with you, or anyone for that matter, right now.</p><p>He seriously needed to consider retirement.</p><p>Ha, retirement at age twenty. What was the world coming to? Oh yeah, mass man slaughter and half beaten body deliveries. Right. Of course. How could he forget?</p><p>Sitting up, Frank untangled himself from the grey sheets with a few dramatic huffs, tired yawns happening from time to time. His cat rubbed up against him and meowed happily at finally seeing him maneuver. He indulged the fluffy creature by petting its head and scratching behind its ears, secretly exploiting affections he wouldn't openly share with anyone else. "Sorry, Stark," He thinned his lips, "Gotta keep ya in here again today."</p><p>Frank smiled when the cat meowed and responded lovingly to his touches. After giving him a few more gentle pets, the mercenary stood up, popping a few sore joints as he went, and headed for his bedroom door. His shoes and mask were off but what did that matter? It wasn't like you weren't going to forget the sight of his face and feet in the clutches of death soon. Besides, it was breakfast time. Killing could come later...</p><p>And he was just about to say that to you until he gazed to his right and saw that you were gone. The only thing left to imply that you had ever been there at all was a couple bundles of ripped duck tape. Frank sprinted over and kneeled down, examining the expertly torn tape. It wasn't cut with a knife or anything. He knew. He was familiar with those kinds of things. Frank brushed the jagged edges of the dark grey substance, agreeing with his thoughts that it looked like you... broke out of the tape yourself. <em>How</em>? What a question indeed.</p><p>Frank threw the tape to the side and stood up, taking a suspicious once over his apartment. The front door was still locked which meant that you were still here. But where?</p><p>A flash of dark black from your torn pants caught his attention and pulled his stomping feet in the direction of the kitchen. His bare feet met the boring white ceramic tile of his dirty kitchen holding your limp, panting body. Blood from your misplaced bandages created a path from where you must have collapsed in the middle of the kitchen floor, and your pelvic area was surrounded in a small, dark pool of yellowish orange water.</p><p>Anger, shock and fury flared in Frank's chest as he stopped right in front of your outstretched hand, realizing that you had intended to make it through the back door, and pointed dangerously at you. "<em>You</em>," He bit his lip and looked away, his brain thundering with sailer like threats, "Oh man, the things I'm gonna do to you."</p><p>"I told you I'd do it," You mumbled against the ground, but whether you were unable to open your eyes or choosing not to, your captor did not know.</p><p>"You're just fucking asking for it, aren't you?" Frank twisted his fingers into a knuckle white fist.</p><p>You made a small huff through all the heavy breathing and smiled lightly, "You always this nice to your victims?"</p><p>Frank, of course, was raging mad. His first instincts screamed at him to inflict pain, torment and agony. To make you scream and writhe until you were begging for forgiveness or death; whichever came first. But he stopped, fists loosening at his sides as he stared at your beaten body and began to realize some rather off things. Like your bondage for one. It took a pro movement to bust out of tape, especially tape that thick, and you had no sharp objects in reach so either you were hiding something or not as weak as you appeared. The urine beneath you was extremely yellow and, as he came to admit, very little in size which meant that you must not have been hydrated at all. Frank wondered why.</p><p>However, one of the things that stood out the most was the fact that, if you were strong enough to bust out of the tape, then how come you didn't just leave while you had the chance? There was no telling how long you had been laying there, and sure there was the fact that The Legions were master mercenaries and could find prey in an instant, but still. You had the chance and yet you didn't take it.</p><p>More and more Frank found his anger fleeting, and his limbs grew numb with burning emptiness, his baffled thoughts for you an anchor in his head. He sighed lowly, tiredly, and stomped to his cabinets where he pulled out two bowels and set them side by side before pulling out a can of cat food and dropping it carelessly into the boring, grey melamine. He could get the water from his bathroom.</p><p>After gathering his needed materials for his pet, he sneered at you and wandered past your blood trails to the length of his carpet in which he noticed you hadn't gotten stained with flith. His eyes squinted and a low growl filled his mouth, eyes flitting back at you. 'What game are you playing?' his mind asked.</p><p>Frank spent quite a bit of time in his locked bedroom, showering, feeding his cat and gathering up dirty clothes. Just because he had an awesome job didn't mean he didn't have to do some un-awesome things. He put on his mask and told Stark to wish him luck as he exited his room, making a beeline for the kitchen.</p><p>Vodka, vodka vodka...…</p><p>"Are you ever going to kill me?" You groaned, still in the same position as last time although a little more hunched and feeble.</p><p>Frank rummaged through his cabinets and snickered, "Haven't you ever heard of patience?" Dang, where was his stash?!</p><p>"It's not in my vocabulary," You mumble in what could be considered anger.</p><p>Frank yanked open his wobbly fridge and searched around with his eyes. Six percent alcohol beer. It would have to do. He reached in and pulled the full four-pack out, tearing one off the strap and tossing the others on the counter. "Too bad then," He opened the large can and immediately took a big swig, making a refreshed noise at its dull flavor, "Ahh... thirsty?"</p><p>Your eyes closed and you grimaced, "Pass."</p><p>Frank took another drink, and then another and another, until he was finished with the can and opening up another. His eyes never once moved away from your unmoving form as he thought about what he should do with you. Clean you up for one, get you something to drink and maybe even a fresh set of clothes. Any longer and that smelly, yellow pool you were lying in would seep into your wounds- if it hadn't already, and add even bigger problems to his list of nonformality.</p><p>After finishing half another can, Frank roughly sat down the drink and kneeled forward. "Think you can get up, sweetness?" He asked in a mockery of pity.</p><p>"No," You say casually, like he should already know that obvious factor.</p><p>Frank shrugged and clicked his lips, "Too bad then." He stood up and walked to the bathroom in his hallway, pretending like he was doing this for the benefit of his curiosity and suspicion. As he entered the pearly ceramic room, he drew back the shower curtain and turned on the water after plugging the drain. Now he usually didn't do this for prey unless he believed they needed a good bleaching or deserved a proper rest for the night, but he had an odd feeling about you and he wanted to figure it out.</p><p>As the warm water began to instantly fill the tub, Frank walked back out and entered the kitchen, halting upon your filthy body. He hesitated, but remembered that he had plenty of clothes and an extra shower he could use if he needed, and bent down. Instead of throwing you over his shoulder like he did most, he scooped you up into both his arms with ease and held you against his chest. In response, you made the smallest flinch and noise of confused fear. He paused briefly to question the off behavior of it all, but pressed forward anyway.</p><p>You didn't make a sound as he went on, and it only served to fuel the sea of questions crashing inside his head. You were light in his arms, super light. Most people were, but you... You were really small. Once he got to the bathroom, he began to figure out why as he sat you down on the toilet and reached for the hem of your shirt.</p><p>"What are you doing?" You ask in a small, confused voice, flinching and gazing off at his sudden implication touch.</p><p>Frank paused again and brushed it off again, simply pushing himself forward and forcing your thin shirt over your head and arms. His eyes widened behind his mask at the sight of your mangled, scratched and bruised chest, how your breast were scarred and cut up. Your stomach, where the bandage had come loose, bore a deep, nasty gash that looked to be a clever wound or something angular of the sort. The coloring of it was a dark, frightening red, and the cut itself seemed to be turning an unnaturally putrid purple. He ignored it for now and reached down to tear off your shoes, happy that his mask prevented him from smelling much.</p><p>As he went to unbuckle your pants, Frank began to question why you weren't putting up much of a fight, much less even protesting. Besides the small, off flinch, you remained oddly submissive and quiet. Annoyingly so. He didn't like it, and was beginning to go crazy. He yanked your pants down, hands covered in your urine as he cringed at the smell he wasn't able to avoid.</p><p>"Get in the tub," He demanded, scooping up your clothes and carrying them to the trash. He growled when he dropped your scattered bandages and went to pick them up, jerking back at the sight of you falling against the wall.</p><p>He caught you immediately, breath intensified at the moment as he held you up by your arms, noticing how your knees shook badly. You were in worse condition than he assumed. He held you against his chest, listening to your quiet noises of distress as he guided you to the edge of the tub. Moving you downwards, the position became awkward and he worried that you may fall so he pulled you back up and turned you around. Yet still it seemed too risky.</p><p>With a frustrated exhale, Frank sucked in a breath and picked you back up, damming his aching back as he sat you down in the water with a splash, getting his sleeves soaked in the process. He growled again and turned the water off with a mean wrenching noise, deciding to leave the tub empty enough so you wouldn't get any ideas of drowning or accidently passing out. Reaching out, he grabbed his bottle of body wash/shampoo and threw it in the water, saying in a firm yet undemanding voice, "Here. Wash."</p><p>Then he stood up and left, only pausing to look back. Obviously he had taken in the details of your naked body, and it only seemed to rise a kind of conflicting emotion he did not favor in the least. <em>Sadness</em>. Your hollow stomach, bruised muscles, dark eyes and chapped lips. It was all a painful view for a man who was facing the sharp, hard ground he was about to fall on, and he had absolutely nothing to hold onto in this obscure situation.</p><p>Frank rushed to his bedroom, giving his cat a quick tickle behind the ear before quickly digging in through his bottom dresser drawer. He tossed out a few pieces of clothing before coming across an old shirt that had been gifted to him when he was younger by an old friend. It was the biggest- and in his silent opinion the most comfortable- shirt he owned. Grabbing some boxers, he clumsily shut his drawers and turned around, rolling his eyes in frustration at seeing that his cat had escaped his room. Curse you, he thought, getting his focus so screwed up.</p><p>Once he got back to the bathroom, he noticed that you were still sitting there motionlessly, head hanging off to the side with an unreadable expression, hands folded lifelessly in your lap, the bottle floating gently in front of you. Frank sat the clothes down on the counter and kneeled down beside the tub. "I thought I told you to wash," He said.</p><p>"Irish Spring isn't my thing," You mumble, eyes avoiding the man beside you.</p><p>"Well nows a good time to make it your thing," Frank grabbed your arm and lifted it up, laying your palm out flat and pressing the half empty bottle in it, "Wash."</p><p>To his surprise, you grasped the bottle, however, your eyes stayed casted away, voice quiet when you ask. "Why... Why are you doing this?" It was a voice that was afraid of saying the wrong thing, that was hopeless about what the answer would be, that expected only bad.</p><p>It would have been amusing if it weren't so sad.</p><p>"Because you stink," Frank gazed into the water, secretly wondering why himself as he tried finding a reasonable answer, "Now... shut up and do what I say."</p><p>Washing you was harder than Frank had imagined. Not only were you becoming more and more weak by the minute, but your body was growing limp and at times seemed like you may pass out. He ended up having to help you finish rinsing and get out of the tub where he half heartedly dried you off and put on the extra large shirt. You nearly collapsed when he tried to get the underwear on you, but succeeded in one go after helping you to balance. Despite things going fairly well, he still had to carry you to the couch.</p><p>As he laid you down, he noticed you shaking awfully bad and went to grab you a blanket. When he returned, you had curled up into the gentleness of the couch like it was the softest thing you had felt in years. Frank kneeled down and laid the blanket on top of you, carefully tucking it in at the sides. At the end of the couch sat a beat in pillow in which he plucked up. Gently lifting up your head, he slid the pillow beneath you and laid you back down, stroking a strand of wet hair from your cheek as he went. From there he sighed, watching as you continued to shake and shiver even though the thick blanket trapped in plenty of heat above you.</p><p>Something wasn't right. Frank realized, remembering your bloody bandages and the strange coloring around your wound. Something definitely wasn't right. Your shaking, weak form told him everything, and it was enough to pull him straight to his legs and off to his phone.</p><p>From there he made a call. "Yo Danny... look, I gotta favor to ask you man... Yeah... Yeah, bring your med- crap too."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Whilst he waited for his best acquaintance to show up, Frank washed himself up a bit from this afternoons wild showcase, and changed into some fresh clothes. Feeling overly preoccupied, he threw the filthy clothes in a pile by the washer and promised himself that he'd wash them later. In the meantime, he was rushing to his bathroom to grab a rag, soaking it in cool water beneath the sink. His head was racing. He honestly wished he could just sit down and not have to worry about anything, lay low for a few days, have fun. But this was the MacMillan business. Things were different than what his bounty hunting days brought him. He had actual blood to wash his own hands with.</p><p>Right now though, he couldn't bring himself to wash in your blood.</p><p>After ringing out the cool rag, Frank stomped into the living room and kneeled down beside the couch where you lay quiet and motionless. He gazed at your limp form, eyes fully able to take in the pathetic view after abandoning his mask on his bed. You were too unstable to memorize anything right now. Frank reached forward and pressed the backs of his fingers against your head, eliciting not even the smallest twitch of alarm, and withdrew just as calmly. You were burning up. Badly. He wouldn't doubt that you had a flu worth fever going on right now.</p><p>Folding and adjusting the rag into a rectangular formation, Frank leaned up and pressed it against your forehead. This time it did erupt a small reaction from your exhausted form. Your head and shoulders jerked and your eyes fluttered open and shut, throat gargling a small, quiet groan. Frank compressed the rag gently to your forehead for a few more seconds until feeling confident that you wouldn't move less it fall out of place. He retreated his hand and just stared at you, at how your body was hunched and feebly curled up, how your breathing was short and jagged, how your body shook in an unknown carnival of internal pain.</p><p>His knifes weren't too far from reach. They decorated the apartment like flower petals blown away by a fan. Heck, he had one in his back pocket; of course it was more for opening beer bottles than anything, but you know, it could come in handy for a little damage. If Frank really wanted to, he could do it. Snap out your lights and be rid of your disgraceful, sad body. Then he could revel in the moment and finally, finally relax for the night. Once he buried you, he could come back home, shower, watch something sexy, have a little self passion, and go to sleep. It was a practical dream just waiting to uncage from the needy imagination walls of his mind.</p><p>But he couldn't.</p><p>Well, "couldn't" was a strong word. One that Frank preferred not to use often. He could kill you. He could do anything he wanted to if he truly set his mind to it. But for the first time in his entire career, he found that rather than not being able to kill someone... he didn't want to. And he could not for the life of him figure out why. He tried theorizing that perhaps it was because you were already half dead and wanted to die so acceptingly. Maybe it was because you were a female, and females often times put up a pretty good fight, held grudges, stood their ground and could unleash their greatest sailer mouth, yet you did nothing. Absolutely nothing. The busted tape proved your power and yet you didn't take the chance. Why? Why wouldn't you take a chance to live when the opportunity was so highlighted and right in front of you?</p><p>Frank rubbed his face. This was stressing him out. He could already feel a small migraine commensing. Standing up, he gave you a quick once over before heading to his kitchen. The floor was still a mess, he concluded while reaching out to take a quick swig of his beer. He ripped an exaggerated wad of cheap paper towels off the rack and threw them to the floor, using his foot to sweep around while he sipped from the dull beer can. He leaned against the counter, trying to zone out the intensity of reality at the moment and focus on the tiniest buzz his stomach was creating. It wasn't enough. Nothing was ever, ever enough. Not for this job.</p><p>After half heartedly cleaning up the floor, Frank disposed the paper towels and opened his cupboard, pulling out a plastic cup he had gotten from a restaurant and flipping it in his hands. It was a spacious cup but one he could afford to waste and not have to worry about constantly refilling. Breathing out a sigh, he poured fresh, cold water into the cup and headed back to the living room. You were still in the exact same position. Even on the inside, Frank wouldn't have admitted that it made him nervous.</p><p>Getting to his knees, Frank pulled the now warm rag from your head and sat it down on the coffee table. You released a small noise but otherwise remain motionless. He reached out one hand and slid it underneath your head, fingers getting slightly tangled in your damp hair. He flexed his knuckles. You winced, eyes blinking open. "Here," He said gruffly, tilting your head forward, "Drink."</p><p>Frank pressed the edge of the cup to your chapped lips, expecting you to either greedily drink or do nothing at all. He was surprised to feel your head lift slightly, lips sealing around the edge of the cup. Gently he lifted it, allowing you to take small, timid gulps. In repeat, your head would go limp as you swallowed, taking a moment to recover as if the mere strength it was taking just to hydrate was draining you senseless. Then you'd lean forward to take another sip. In the end, it wasn't outstanding progress, but you had drank over half the cup before your head finally went completely limp, eyes fully closed.</p><p>Frank slid his hand from your head and sat the cup down, wondering where this shot of patience had come from. Your face, so bruised and decorated with pain, it was atrocious and unjust. He ached to ask what happened, to get a feel of your point of view, to hear your soft voice as you stare at him with those deep, penetrating eyes and... Frank growled, slamming his fist lightly onto the coffee table as he gripped the rag and stood, hastily going back to the bathroom to re-wet it. He was able to return and place it back over your forehead just in time for there to be a funky joke knock on the front door.</p><p>Recognizing the knock immediately, Frank stood up and strode over to the door, opening it and turning around carelessly. "Got your shit?" He asked, watching out of the corner of his eye as the blonde haired male wandered in happily.</p><p>"Sure do," Danny closed the door with a swing from his hips, satchel tapping against his waist as his aqua blue eyes quickly searched the room for his favorite friend, "But uhh, what's it for? Usually you don't need medical attention unless you sat on your balls wrong or gotta false identity lead."</p><p>Frank turned away from the cheery man and glared at the ground, only able to utter two decimals of a word before hearing an over exaggerated gasp, turning his head to catch the sight of Danny crouching on the ground in front of his cat.</p><p>"Sup Stark," Danny patted the fluffy creature's head in excitement, "How's it going? Paw?" He lifted his palm out, twitching it softly and repeating, "Paw?"</p><p>The cat tilted it's head curiously before questionably reaching its paw out to lay over Danny's hand.</p><p>"Now that's what I'm talking about," Danny laughed and shook the creature's paw gently before grinning up at the mercenary, "Frank, you should'a named this little guy Bonnie, huh? He's a pro, isn't that right Bonnie? Hm? Right."</p><p>Frank heaved a frustrated sigh and rolled his eyes, "Danny, focus. I need your med crap. Where is it?"</p><p>Danny continued to pet the loving feline as he tapped his satchel, "Here in ol' faithful."</p><p>"Give it here," Frank demanded, lifting his hand out. He was used to Danny's childish nature. Dude was practically still a kid, didn't do much killing or anything, but was good at tampering with the headlines to help keep the business safe. "Now, Danny."</p><p>"Alright sheesh, calm your tits, man," Danny stood up and gave the slightly taller male a bemused, suspicious stare, removing the bag from over his shoulder, "What's got your panties in a twist?"</p><p>Frank somewhat roughly pulled the satchel from the younger man's arms, turning his head downwards as he shifted away towards the innards of the living room, saying gruffly, "Gotta problem."</p><p>"With...?" Danny lifted his arms out, scuffing at the man's rude, off behavior as he mindlessly glanced around the room, his eyes catching on a peculiar lump on the couch, "Frank...."</p><p>Frank dug through the satchel, pulling out a nearly empty roll of gauze, a deal of very cheap alcohol, some pain killers, bandaids and a tube of aloe burn gel. Besides the other scattered tools that were irrelevant to medical use, that was all he could find. "Is this really all the shit you have?" He asked like it was absolutely ridiculous, turning to his friend with an aggressively presented shrug.</p><p>Danny rose his arms up in a manner of retaliation, "Hey, don't stick your blade up my ass. I don't know what's going on here, and Frank... What the hell is going on?"</p><p>Frank rolled his eyes at the mere lack of a satisfying answer, and stomped towards the empty love seat, throwing the satchel beside him. He groaned angrily, elbows pressing hard against his knees as he buried his face in his palms, groaning again in frustration for good measure. Through the spacing between his fingers, he could spot Danny hesitantly approaching the couch like you were a new pet he didn't want to disturb in case you bit. Rubbing his eyes in distress, Frank drug his palms down his face and said-</p><p>"Philip and them dropped her off last night," He glowered in your direction, head tilting in a small shake of disbelief, "Didn’t feel like finishing the job so I decided to wait."</p><p>"You mean she's a delivery?" Danny embarked in surprise, pointing a crooked finger at you as he stared at his friend who nodded at his question, "Then why haven't you killed her yet?"</p><p>"Because she's already half fucking dead, Danny," Frank retorted and yanked himself to his feet, aggravated by the whole situation, and even worse he couldn't afford someone in the business to believe he was going soft or losing his spunk, "And you know how I am. I don't like it when my job is already three fucking fourths of the way finished."</p><p>Danny examined the rag on your forehead and the cup of water sitting on the table, rubbing his chin in recognition. "So you've..." He grimaced in shock and disbelief, looking back at the mercenary, "Been taking care of her?"</p><p>Frank snapped him a glare, saying a bit too quickly, "No. Fuck no. Wanting her half alive so I can have fun killing her later is not the same as taking care of her, Danny."</p><p>"Ok, ok," Danny waved his hands in defense, "I get your point, but let's be honest here, she's in critical condition. Even if we did have the stuff to help her, it'd still take days to get her health back up- I mean look at her!"</p><p>Danny reached down and picked up your limp arm, shaking it rather violently and receiving nothing but a tiny twitch in return, "She's already half dead."</p><p>"I know, that's what I just fucking said," Frank stomped over, took your hand out of Danny's grasp and pushed him away before gently lying your arm back down over your chest. "It doesn't matter how long it takes," He said in his stern voice as he readjusted your rag and covered your chest up with the blanket, "We need to go to the store and get the shit it'll take to fix her. Know anything about infections?"</p><p>Danny observed the way his friend touched you in such a manner of care and professionalism. He even paused his onslaught of anger to explain the plan behind getting you back to your feet. And it was strange. Very strange. Not like the Frank Danny knew. Frank was all vicious, violent intent, no mercy and no care. He enjoyed killing people almost as much as he enjoyed always having to be right about everything. He took no shit from anyone and stood his ground purely for himself. To see him displaying actual acts of care and concern were nearly as rare as spotting a shooting star, and even then it was only a glimpse.</p><p>"Not much, why?" Danny went with it, because despite going against the job regulations, it was interesting seeing Frank like this, and he wanted to uncover the real reasoning behind it.</p><p>After Frank was finished tucking you back in, he turned to Danny and gave him a slight flash of his eyes, but looked away quickly, head lowered, "I think it's infected. Damn chick pissed on herself last night."</p><p>Danny stuck his tongue out, gazing from between the couch, you and the mercenary.</p><p>Frank must have been anticipating his reaction for he sighed and rolled his eyes, saying bluntly, "She's clean, Danny."</p><p>Danny nodded in affirmation. He was shocked. Very much so. He didn't quite know what to think with the new headlines he was slowly but surely uncovering with his friend. Yeah sure, Frank loved the thrill of killing but he never went through lengths this great to actively fix someone to make them more fun to kill later. He was too stuck up, too selfish and impatient for that type of undertaking. The dude wouldn't even pour someone else a drink without throwing a hissy fit in unnecessary self pettiness. Basically if you were ever invited into his home, be prepared, because it wouldn't be the happiest experience. If you asked him for something, even if it was to know where the bathroom was, he would get snappy. If you looked for it yourself without asking, he would also get snappy.</p><p>To see him providing this care, this concern and respect... it was definitely a rare sight.</p><p>"Let's go to the store. I'll see if I can look up something on my phone to help her," Danny swallowed, not fully able to believe that he was going through with this, but it is what it is, he guessed. </p><p>Without so much as the smallest nod of affirmation, Frank walked to the kitchen to get his wallet. Danny grabbed his satchel and hoisted it back over his shoulder, staring down at your beaten form along the way. You were small, weak and fragile, however your body seemed built strong and tough, like you spent a lot of time out in the sun. Small bruises decorated your skin along with scrape marks and tiny cut indents. Your face is what showed the true depth of your ill; parted, chapped lips, slow, shallow breaths, dark, fluttering eyes and pale, sweaty cheeks. Obviously you were sick. They'd have to be sure and buy some good medicine for that.</p><p>When Frank emerged from the kitchen, he tossed his keys in the air and caught them again, saying quickly, "Let's go."</p><p>"Wait," Danny scrambled to follow the older man, reaching his arm out in gesture to you, "You sure you wanna leave her alone, man?"</p><p>"She's half dead, isn't she?" Frank retorted in a huff.</p><p>"Yeah, but who knows what this crazy chicks capable of," Danny tried to point out the problematic reasonings.</p><p>Frank gave his friend a simple, bland head tilt, "If anyone knows anything then it's that I'm still this company's greatest bounty hunter. Anyone's ass gets away from me, I'll mount it on the fucking wall when I find em again... Now let's go."</p><p>Danny shuddered and followed him out the door, "I hate it when you sound scary. Makes my dick shrink."</p><p>Frank scuffed, "Danny, you're a dumb ass."</p><p>... </p><p><br/>
Once Frank had collected a good amount of medical supplies in a small grocery basket, him and Danny waited in a long, rather occupied checkout line. Frank tapped his feet impatiently, arms crossed as the basket handle lay loose in his fingers. Danny stood behind him, happily looking around at the candy selection, poking delicious treats that he thought looked fun to try. At times he'd pluck one off the shelf and wave it at Frank only for the uptight mercenary to roll his eyes and shrug his shoulders. The candy still made its way into the basket nonetheless....</p><p>"Next." The friendly cashier spoke.</p><p>Frank sighed as he was finally able to dump his stuff out onto the conveyor belt, leaning down to carelessly set the empty, useless basket on the floor. The person in front of him still had quite a few things left to get scanned, but the cashier was spry and seemed to know what she was doing. He kept his arms crossed, eyes glaring at random things as music played loudly above them through the speakers.</p><p>Danny, who's sugar bright attitude could put children to shame, nodded in satisfaction to the music, a smile of wonder forming on his face. "Blue Swede," He broke out a grin.</p><p>Frank rolled his eyes.</p><p>"You like Blue Swede?" A short woman asked from behind the blonde male. She was small but cute, her rosy cheeks and brown eyes a sight to smile at.</p><p>Danny looked to her with interest, his eyes bright. "Are you kidding me? Who wouldn't love the very kings of the seventies?" He laughed and sang part of the lyrics to the song playing.</p><p>The woman giggled at his goofiness and admitted softly, "I like their song 'Hooked on a Feeling'."</p><p>Danny huffed in agreement, his eyebrows flitting as he smirked at the short lady, giving her a sly wink, "Ooga chaka."</p><p>The woman's cheeks turned pink as she giggled behind her hand.</p><p>Danny was about to keep flirting until a rough hand suddenly came out, gripped his arm tightly and yanked him close to the man in front of him. "See all this shit in front of me?" Frank gestured heatedly to the medical items before glaring half heartedly to his friend, poking him hard in the chest, "More than half of its about to be for your ass."</p><p>"Dude, chill," Danny said calmly as he pushed Frank's hand down.</p><p>Frank gave him a death glare, saying threateningly, "I'm about to chill you in Tom's stupid, damn freezer."</p><p>Danny only gave him a silly smile, "Oh, gonna have me for dinner, huh?"</p><p>"I don't like clown," Frank's eyes squinted in distaste and sarcasm, "It taste funny."</p><p>Danny opened his mouth in a very fake and very exaggerated laugh, "Oh haha, very funny, Frank."</p><p>The cashier chuckled in front of them, her eyes casted downwards as she scanned their items. "What're you laughing at?" Frank grimaced, his tone nearly challenging.</p><p>Yet the cashier seemed unphased as she continued to check out the items and bag them. "Nothing. Ya'll are just funny," She responded happily.</p><p>Danny's smile returned at asteroid crashing speed, and his chest puffed with exaggerated pride, "Why thank you." Frank rolled his eyes and looked away. Why did he have to bring a moron with him? Why? </p><p>"How long have you two been together?" The cashier asked as she began to type at the screen, adding up the amount.</p><p>Frank nearly collapsed at the question, his anger, pity and ego barking at him like a pack of wild animals. He refused to answer, because he knew he'd say something that might not just be considered rude, but would probably most likely get him arrested. So Danny answered by slinging an arm around his shoulder and saying joyfully, "Actually we met last week. Frank's my Romeo as much as he doesn't act like it. Just give him time. His harsh attitude only shows his hidden will to prove just how much he loves me."</p><p>Frank shook him off and said in a very low, stern voice, "We aren't together."</p><p>The cashier seemed to believe Frank more than Danny as she popped up their amount, "My apologies. I just assumed since you're wearing the same ring you might have been in a relationship."</p><p>"Nah. It's just business propaganda," Frank said as he swiped his card aggressively, gazing at the ring on his right index finger, the pictures of your beaten body flashing in his head. He needed to get back to you. They had already wasted enough time as it was. </p><p>Frank was finally able to leave the store after painfully witnessing a few more of Danny's flirtatious remarks, and drove home. When they arrived at his apartment, Danny helped him carry their new medical supplies and candy bars in, and dumped them on the coffee table. Frank was upon you in milliseconds with a in awe Danny following behind.</p><p>"Aww," Danny's eyes were as wide as saucers as he stared at the adorable sight in front of him, "I thought Stark hated strangers?"</p><p>Frank was in just as much awe as Danny seeing his fluffy, orange cat laying lovingly on your belly, paws kneading against your covered chest. He was purring up a storm, blinking lazily at Frank like nothing really mattered. It was definitely a one in a million sight to see. Usually Stark didn't take kindly to strangers. Take it from Danny and the Legion; they all had the scars to prove it. It made Frank wonder what was so special about you. His brown eyes gazing over your snoozing face, taking in the pathetic sight. The rag was still on your forehead. It honestly didn't seem like you had moved an inch. It was worrisome, Frank wouldn't admit.</p><p>"Come on Stark," Frank reached out his hands, scooping up the fury creature who meowed in confusion. He sat him down on the ground and watched as he immediately wandered off to the bedroom where his food was.</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Frank grabbed the rag from your head, sat it aside and pulled the blanket down. "You get the shit from Herman?" He asked, gazing at your prickly, scratched up, bruised legs.</p><p>Danny dug through his satchel with a content hum. "Sure did," He pulled out the capped anesthetic and fiddled with it for a second, "You know, when you asked for this I totally thought you were gonna pull one on Joey again."</p><p>Frank made a face of vague disappointment and shrugged, taking the needle from his friend, "Yeah, well... not this time."</p><p>Danny maneuvered to the spot beside Frank, watching as he opened up the sterilization wipes and pulled out one of the tiny, plastic packages. "So..." He said, trying not to sound too awfully awkward, "What happened to you and Julie?"</p><p>Frank opened up the annoying, tiny package and pulled out the sterilization wipe, quickly reaching out for your arm. Hopefully the water you drank hydrated you enough for him to have a clear shot. He popped the cap off the anesthetic, wiped an area of your wrist and pointed the needle, saying afterwards, "You already know this."</p><p>"All I know is that Julie said you were an uptight cunt who didn't want anything to do with her," Danny shrugged, remembering the angry girl's outburst that day, "I wanna hear it from your perspective."</p><p>Frank gave himself score points for injecting you properly, and put the cap back on the needle. Before he went to rase up your shirt, he looked to his friend and blandly pursed his eyebrows, "Well apparently I was an uptight cunt who didn't want anything to do with her."</p><p>Danny blinked. There was something off about Frank. His ego was too in check and contained. He didn't even defend himself. Perhaps the manner was too personal, too private? Ever since he left the Legion and became a mercenary, he started acting different. The parties ceased, the arguments ceased, he got an actual apartment and even a cat. He wasn't one for company anymore. Danny had to be honest, he never understood why Frank even let him come around as much as he did.</p><p>"So, what'd you figure out about infections?" Frank continued, his body slumping as he stared down at you.</p><p>Danny took out his phone and brought up the page he had been looking at, "It says here we need to check the wound to make sure there's no glass, debris and stuff like that inside."</p><p>"Check," Frank had already thoroughly examined your wound. He knew it's condition.</p><p>"Next it says to get some soap and water to gently clean the wound," Danny looked to his friend, "Have you already cleaned it?"</p><p>Frank was about to say yes until he remembered the odd liquid and thin blood that had still been seeping out of your gash, and stood up. "I'll be right back," He waved his fingers at you, "Lift her shirt up."</p><p>Danny made an unhappy gesture, clearly not wanting do such a thing. With a deflated sigh, he sat his phone down and leaned forward to lift up the big shirt, pausing at the image on it. When Frank returned minutes later, he looked to him and asked, "Dude, what's with your obsession with Iron Man?"</p><p>Frank grumbled, "Just fucking help me with this, man."</p>
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